4
Sunday began around eleven o’clock. Judith noticed that she was half naked, then staggered out of bed and searched for her mobile, which was buzzing irritatingly. The culprit violating her human rights was Gerd. “How are you feeling?” he asked. Judith: “No idea.” Him: “Did you get home O.K.?” Her: “Probably.” Him: “Have you got company?” Her: “No, I don’t think so.” Him: “Should I ring back later?” Her: “No.” By which she meant not now, nor later.
Him: “What happened to you yesterday?” Her: “What do you mean?” Him: “You were really smashed.” Her: “What, me?” Him: “Well, you were pretty drunk at any rate.” Her: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Him: “Are you that much in love with him?” Her: “In love? I don’t know.” Him: “Do you want me to tell you what I think of Hannes? You know, my first impressions?” Her: “If you like.” Him: “Do you really want to know?” Her: “No, I’d rather not.”
Him: “Hannes is great!” Her: “Do you really think so?” Him: “Yup. We were all raving about him, in every respect. He’s open, friendly, warm, attentive. He’s got something to say for himself. He’s funny.” Her: “Really?” Him: “You’ve really landed on your feet there.” Her: “Seriously?” Him: “I know you weren’t aware of half of what was going on, but do you know how sweet he was to you?” Her: “No, but he’s always like that.” Him: “He worships you.” Her: “Does he?” Him: “Let me tell you, he’s the best thing that could happen to you.” Her: “Do you mean that?” Him: “If I were a woman, that’s exactly the kind of man I’d want as a partner.” Her: “Really?” Him: “Did he take you home?” Here there was a brief pause. Him: “Judith, are you still there?” Her: “Gerd? I think I need to lie down again.”
She found the button with the small red telephone, left her mobile to its own devices, plodded into the bathroom, threw on her black dressing gown, looked in the loo, then in the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom – nothing. She opened the wardrobe, peeked under the bed, felt the mattress and inspected the folds in the sheets before removing the dressing gown, crawling under the covers and taking a deep breath. Hannes was definitely not there. Nor had Hannes ever been there, she would have smelled and sensed his presence, she would have been aware of him, however drunk she was. Now she could sleep. Now she wanted to dream about him.
5
Nothing came of her Hannes dream, but by three o’clock that afternoon Judith had slept off her hangover and felt hungry. She ordered a quattro stagioni by phone. The pizza delivery boy handed over a huge bunch of flowers too. “They’re not from me, I’m afraid, they were lying on the doormat,” he said. Twenty-five dark-red roses. An envelope was attached to the cellophane. Judith opened it and read: “For the most wonderful woman I’ve ever had the opportunity to take home without her noticing. Love, Hannes”
Now it was Judith’s turn to have her socks knocked off. Determined to piece together the missing evening, she rang her friends one by one to find out what they thought of Hannes Bergtaler. Ilse: dashing, comes across as very natural, large head, Colgate smile, the darling of any mother-in-law, rather conservative dress sense, crew cut doesn’t really suit him, principled, bit quirky but not uptight, can look a woman deep in the eyes, good listener, likes children, asked all about Mimi and Billi, even brought something for them, a real sweetie, a big cuddly bear. And, most importantly of all: “Head over heels for you.” Judith: “Really?” She loved hearing this. “Yes. He spent the whole time singing your praises.”
Roland: a really popular chap, completely trustworthy, nothing shifty about him, warm and open to everyone, very articulate, very persuasive, said a lot of fascinating things about architecture. And: “He didn’t take his eyes off you.” Judith: “Seriously?” Roland: “He’s crazy for you.” Judith: “Crazy?” Roland: “Absolutely.”
Valentin: an emotional person, not your typical man, not too casual, no poser, quite soft really. Judith: “Soft?” Valentin: “No, actually not soft. He knows exactly what he wants.” Judith: “Does he?” Valentin: “He’s got the hots for you.” Judith: “I know.” Valentin: “Big time.”
Lara: “He kept giving me this look.” Judith: “What sort of look?” Lara: “So sweet, so trustful, like a big brother, as if we knew each other inside out. And he told Valentin that he loves it when two people show how much they really belong together. And that he’s delighted he met us. And whether you always drink that much. And that he’d like to have us all over sometime. And that you’re his dream woman.” Judith: “Dream woman?” Lara: “Yes, those were his very words. How does he kiss?” Judith: “I’m sorry?” Lara: “Is it nice kissing him?” Judith: “Oh, right, kissing. Yeah, sure. Really nice, in fact.” Probably.
6
The following Friday of a working week which had consisted of eight interim meetings with Hannes – three cups of coffee, two mugs of tea, two flutes of prosecco, one glass of Campari and orange, and countless cups overflowing with compliments – was, at 28 degrees, the warmest day of the year so far. Harnessing all her mental effort Judith somehow managed to get six o’clock to come round. After a cold shower she deliberated, for the first time since Carlo almost six months previously, over what underwear she should put on. And catching herself in deliberation she was struck by self-loathing. No, actually, she loathed Carlo for all those lost nights; she still felt embarrassed by her occasional relapse into submissiveness. Discarding all those undergarments which had been for Carlo’s eyes, she chose instead one of the white orthopaedic knickers with kidney support, which she always wore to her gynaecologist, Dr Blechmüller.
As ever, Judith applied the make-up subtly to those chestnut-brown eyes that often led to her being mistaken for a doe. Her lips received a thin layer of shimmering red lavender-honey balsam. She spent ages blow-drying her natural-blonde hair – why “natural-blonde”? Was nature blonde? – until finally she achieved that perfectly dishevelled look. “Brash” was what they called it in styling magazines. Jeans and T-shirt had been laid out two days ago for the occasion. With her chic new black-leather jacket and cool lace-up boots she intended to show Hannes what fashion could be if one didn’t leave it merely to chance or a clearance sale. “Stunning,” she breathed onto the mirror until it misted up. She’d definitely knock the socks off Hannes.
They went out for dinner; it was their first proper evening together, just the two of them. A new Vietnamese restaurant had opened up in Schwarzspanierstrasse. As if especially for their date. Hannes had booked for eight o’clock. Judith counted every one of the thirteen minutes she deliberately arrived late, without doubt the longest of that day. Their table was in the courtyard garden. When he saw her Hannes leaped up and flailed wildly with his arms. The other diners swivelled around to see what sort of woman could bring a man out of his state of zen tranquillity so spontaneously.
This time Judith wasn’t the least bit nervous. She talked about her childhood in the lighting shop, how she had hitchhiked around Cambodia with her brother, Ali, and her traumatic experience of Brazilian Macumba rituals with voodoo-practising healers. She devoured her three-course menu as quickly and as feistily as she spoke, washed down with cola and green tea. All the while she allowed herself to be venerated by Hannes, who picked at a dry rice dish without any real appetite and never took his eyes off her.
Besides the usual compliments – which hardly omitted a single facial feature, body part or inner quality of Judith’s – she felt flattered by the warm sparkle in his gaze, which settled on her lips the moment she opened them to say something, no matter how inconsequential. She could have gone on like this for hours.
But, with a surprisingly jerky movement, Hannes grabbed her hand, yanked it across the middle of the table and buried it in his huge fingers, unleashing a strange feeling inside her. For all of a sudden he looked more serious and fiery than ever. And, in a very different, far more solemn tone than that with which lovebirds on their first rendezvous usually swap innocuous stories from their past, he said: “Judit
h, you are the woman I have always longed for. I want to give you every ounce of my love.” As this was not a question, Judith didn’t know how to reply. And so she left it at: “Hannes, you’re so lovely to me. I still can’t take it all in.”
She wanted her hand back beside the teacup. But Hannes wasn’t finished with it yet. With a particularly firm grip on her fourth finger, he slowly pushed something over it. Judith couldn’t pull free in time. But then Hannes let go of her hand and, wide-eyed in astonishment, she was free to look at what was different about her finger. Her reaction was not an instinctive one; she’d watched scenes like this too often in films. So she stuck to a script which befitted the occasion: “Hannes, are you mad?” “What on earth have I done to deserve this?” “It’s not my birthday.” And there was an “I can’t possibly accept it” thrown in too.
“Just see it as a little memento of our early days together,” Hannes said. She nodded. “Do you like it?” he asked. “Yes, of course, it’s wonderful,” Judith replied. That was her first lie, flung right into the middle of Hannes’ rapturous face.
7
To get over the shock of the ring, she suggested they move to the Triangel, a bar behind the Votivpark. She’d been there a few times with Carlo. Hannes had every opportunity to make amends. The sparing beams of the yellow and red ceiling spots reflected off opaque glass walls, blurring the faces of the guests in the half-light. In here people were transformed into beautifully coloured, shapeless figures, hard to tell apart. Whenever Carlo had urged her to pop back to his place (which meant, of course, popping into bed), it was the Triangel where she’d usually given in and said yes.
Hannes was not the type to capitalise on the mood of a bar designed for the purposes of seduction. This earned him volumes of respect in her eyes; she even found it attractive. All the same, he had succeeded in putting his arm around her shoulder, holding onto it like a powerful guardian. The two of them stood at the bar like a couple in folk costume who’d lost their way, relaying trivial details from their lives.
In the end Judith needed a couple of harder drinks to summon the courage for the question: “What about a kiss?” She shot an inviting look right into the centre of his startled eyes, and knew that at that moment she must look stunning. She would have kissed her, at any rate. At least he said “yes” without hesitation.
“But not here and not now,” he added, to her bewilderment. “So where then, and when?” she asked. Hannes: “My place.” (Without mentioning a specific time.) Judith: “Your place?” With the tip of her thumb she caressed the angular surface of her new ring. She hated amber. Maybe his entire flat and all its furnishings were made of amber. “No, mine,” she said, astonished by her assertiveness. “O.K., let’s go to yours then,” Hannes replied hastily. He smiled with every one of his faded sunbeam wrinkles. For him, “then” obviously meant “straightaway”, Judith thought as he prepared to pay.
8
She’d picked up the lamp that stood beside her ochre sofa in the living room in an antiques shop in Rotterdam. The adjustable shades hung from a thick, curved stalk like laburnum blossom. The light source flowed back into itself and petered out. The room got no more than the rays it needed.
It had taken Judith ages to set all the shades at the optimal angles. Now the light had the ability to make even the most tired eyes twinkle, the gloomiest faces shine, and bring the saddest people to laughter. Had Judith been a psychotherapist, she would have simply sat her patients here for a few minutes in silence, and afterwards asked them what worries they had, or if they could remember them at all.
Judith was so receptive to intimate lighting and its effects that she could sense it even now, when her eyes were closed, at the solemn ceremony of her first kiss with Hannes kiss. What had Lara asked on the phone? “Is it nice kissing him?” Nice? Kissing him? She touched his lips with her fingers, he put his hand at the back of her neck and gently pulled her head towards his. Then she could feel him in several places at once, spread over her entire body. His legs clamped hers. His left shoulder was pushed firmly against her torso. His elbows brushed her hips, his arms squeezed her narrow waist and then inched upwards. His hands took hold of both sides of her neck and fixed her head. She was in a tight clinch when his lips positioned themselves for a landing on her mouth, like the wheels of a heavy aeroplane on soft tarmac. They bumped up and down a few times then dropped and vacuumed tightly to hers. Judith opened her mouth and released her tongue, which proceeded to be tossed all over the place, as if in the spin cycle of a full wash.
She slapped the back of his head with the hand she was able to free. “Hey, not so hard, I can’t breathe,” she complained. “Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her ear. Only now did she open her eyes. The sight of him reassured her. Hannes looked contrite, like a clumsy schoolboy who’s done it all wrong again.
“Do you always kiss so… violently?” she asked. “No, it’s just, it’s just, it’s just…” He needed three run-ups. “It’s just that I love you so much, I don’t know what to do,” he said beseechingly. O.K., she thought: an acceptable argument. “But that doesn’t mean you have to swallow me up, lock, stock and barrel,” she said gently. He gave an embarrassed smile; his eyes beamed in the light of the laburnum lamp.
Judith: “You have to be gentle with me, I’m made of porcelain.” She tapped the tip of his nose with her index finger. He placed his hands tenderly on her cheeks. Her: “Why are you trembling?” Him: “I want you so badly.” Her: “Do you want to sleep with me?” Him: “Yes.” Her: “Do it, then.” Him: “Yes.” Her: “But we’re keeping the light on.”
PHASE THREE
1
June started out hot and dry. The daylight shone bright white, as if from a cosmic neon tube. Sunglasses were required to make out colours. The small azalea bush on her roof terrace had dropped the last of its red blooms. But now the huge weeping fig, which Hannes had brought over, was pushing out one shoot after another. Judith intended to go on gazing at it until the autumn, when sadly she would have to prune it.
*
Sitting on the stone steps, she closed her eyes and focused on the yellowy-white blocks forced beneath her lids by the sun, hoping that she might fathom something about herself. She was impatient, she wanted to know there and then what had happened to her over the past few weeks, why she was where she was, and where she was in the first place. Indeed, where was she?
Did she want a man? (Not especially, not anymore.) One “for life”? (Only on certain conditions.) Hadn’t she already gone through every single type? (A few weeks ago she would have said yes.) Wasn’t she at one with herself? (Yes, most of the time. It was only when she was drunk that she was at two or three with herself.) Didn’t she have a good grip on everything? (Yes, well, sometimes, normally on workdays, and mainly lamps.)
So, almost three months ago she’d met someone. “Someone” was a dramatic understatement. Hannes Bergtaler! Architect. He was currently drawing up plans for their future together. The shell was already there. If he had his way they’d move in tomorrow.
The man had an unusual, inflated, vertiginous capacity for love. He loved and loved and loved and loved. And who did he love? He loved – her. How much? So much. “More than anything” was just a small part of it.
Watch out, Judith! Maybe he was leading her on, maybe he led all women on, maybe he loved someone like her every few months, maybe he was a professional “more than anything” lover. No, not Hannes. Hannes was genuine. He wasn’t a gambler. He wasn’t an imposter. This was precisely what made him different from any man she’d ever encountered before. There was something permanent in the way he loved her, an insane claim to eternity. He was so earnest in his devotion, so faithful in his actions, so genuine in his expression, so focused on her. And she found this so uncannily… attractive. Attractive? She didn’t know if “attractive” was the quite right word. But it was something along those lines. She found it, found it, found it…
She was surprised at
herself. Did she want to be idolised like this? (Only by her father.) Did she want to be the centre point of someone else’s universe? (No, not even her father’s.) Did she want to be the chosen one? (No, actually she always wanted to choose for herself.) Yes: this, in a nutshell, was the problem. Hannes left her with no choice. He did the choosing. He was always three steps ahead of her. Which prevented her from ever taking her own steps. As events happened she stumbled behind. She was being pulled along by the towrope of his emotional mountain trek.
Which scared her a little. For in the direction he was heading there wasn’t much further to go. The path was too steep for her. She couldn’t keep pace with him any longer. She was out of breath. She needed a break.
She’d seen him every day for three weeks. EVERY DAY. He came into her shop for a coffee every few hours, and if there wasn’t any coffee then he made do with a light bulb. If she had customers he’d wait with the patience of a saint until she was free. By now he knew all the lighting catalogues inside out, as well as the names of the hundred “most epic club nights”, according to Bianca. In the evenings they went out to eat, or to the cinema, or the theatre, or a concert – it didn’t matter. He’d have quite happily visited rubbish tips, parade grounds and car graveyards. The only condition was that it had to be with her.
Forever Yours Page 3